The women and children instantly disappeared from the streets. The storage pits were slammed shut and secured, with the regular watchmen racing over, weapons drawn, to guard them. A third and fourth bell, closer still, joined the first two. The Kinship who were on duty raced off toward the work road that looped back along the base of the mountain. Those who weren’t rushed to don their armor and weapons and pull horses from the stables. Cailean and his father stood by their cart, stunned and anxious, with their load still sitting out in the open. Cailean had brought his sword and readied his hand on the hilt, but he wore no armor and was ill equipped for a fight. Elowyn had nothing, not even her dagger.
“Go home,” Cailean told her in a low voice.
“What is happening?” she asked, heart pounding. The bells continued to cry out in their clamorous tones of distress. Elowyn wished she could shut them out.
“Those bells mean there has been an attack along the mining road. Did I not warn you that even with the thieves gone, more would soon take their place?”
“What if it isn’t thieves?” she asked, trying to mask her terror at the thought of Minhaven sharing the same fate Solis had.
“Then you had best get your bow,” Cailean said, “and make your final peace with Aviad.”
Cailean’s father tried to be more reassuring. “At tax time, along the mining road, you can be sure it is thieves. We have been through this before. Even so, Cailean is right—you should go home. If they make it this far, our load is only a target to draw their attention.”
“If you don’t mind, I would rather stay with you than sit alone in my room wondering what is happening.”
Under protest, they finally agreed that she could stand with them, but Cailean advised her to get her bow. “It could be a while before we know anything. The mining road is long and goes well up into the mountains until it joins the western pass.”
Elowyn retrieved her bow and stood anxiously by Cailean, breathless and trembling. Although the alarm bells stopped one by one, the village remained frozen in place. The streets were empty except for Minhaven’s guard, standing vigilant around the storage pits, and a group of Kinship warriors on horseback patrolling the border. The waiting was unbearable to Elowyn, but she gleaned what comfort she could from knowing there were many well-trained men at the ready.
Cailean’s absolute calm in the face of danger surprised her. The same eyes that always showed such tenderness toward her had changed to steel, polished and sharp as the sword that hung from his belt. His mind was not calculating routes of escape should the village itself come under attack. It was strategizing, preparing to put up a fight to protect her, his father, and the cart, regardless of the outcome. Elowyn realized that in the end, it would not matter what she thought about Cailean joining the Kinship. At heart, he was a fighter, and this incident would only serve to strengthen his resolve.
As the day began to wane, the Kinship finally returned from the mining road. But their return was slow and full of sorrow rather than triumph. Three of the men were walking, with large bundles draped over the backs of their horses. Elowyn could not tell what they were at first, as the men had used their cloaks to cover the bundles. Cailean and his father instantly knew. They abandoned their cart, racing over to meet the men. Elowyn remained frozen in place while they talked. Her mind and heart were racing too much for her to focus on what they were saying, but she could feel the dread welling up inside of her. Something had gone terribly wrong. As the horses came closer and continued on past her, toward the monastic community, she came to the full realization of what she was seeing. The bundles were bodies.
A pale, listless hand hung below the hem of a cloak, which was not quite large enough to conceal its grisly secret. A few curled wisps of hair peeked out, ruffled gently by the wind, but otherwise motionless. Two more bundles passed by. She averted her eyes, unable to look. The horror of that lifeless hand had already burned itself into her mind, and she doubted that she would ever be able to rid herself of the memory. She lowered herself onto the ground—her legs seemed unable to hold her weight any longer. Who was under those cloaks? She had come to know so many of the miners who frequented the tavern. Her immediate concern was for Bane. She prayed with all her heart that the cold, limp hand had not belonged to him.
Elowyn thought for a moment that she heard Cailean calling her name, but the voices around her seemed nothing more than distant echoes in the midst of her shock. The warmth of his hand grasping hers brought her back to the present.
“You all right?” Through a shimmer of rising tears, she saw the steel of his eyes melt once more into tender brown. She nodded in response, but there was no truth in the gesture. She was far from all right.
“Was it thieves?” she asked.
“Yes, but I don’t know much beyond that—the rest of the Kinship is still out there. Come on, I’ll walk you home before I help unload the cart. I’ll sleep better when our share is safely under lock and guard.” He continued to hold her hand as he guided her back to the tavern, and she was happy to draw strength from his affection.
There was no time to stop and reflect on the tragedy that had befallen the community. With the tax deadline imminent, the miners had to press even harder to get their loads into the village and recorded.
The Kinship returned to report that the group of miners had indeed been attacked by a new band of thieves. Several of them had been caught and killed by Glak’s men as they tried to press closer to Minhaven for a second attack. The rest had long escaped into the wilderness before anyone discovered the dead miners, bearing with them a good portion of gold, silver, and even smelted ore. The attack had been well planned against a few who mined in relative isolation and were known to bring in large shares. The thieves had all worn identical clothing, with dark leather armor and black helms that completely covered their faces. It would seem that Minhaven’s reprieve had been far too short—there was now a new enemy to fight. All were warned to take extra precautions, and the Kinship began regular patrols of the mountain road.
The monks had not yet finished their burial rites for the three dead miners when the ship arrived to collect Minhaven’s tax. It held a good distance away from the treacherous shore, sending out smaller boats to navigate its rocks and shifting currents. Everything that had been so carefully stored away made its appearance once again, loaded onto the boats under the watchful eyes of Tyroc’s tax officials as they scrutinized the ledger.
The senior official was a tall, imposing man with dark eyes. His thin black beard had been sculpted to a point at the end of his chin. His hair was meticulously groomed, and he wore fine, expensive clothing. But in spite of his finery, his drawn, bony face and yellowed teeth gave him a ghoulish appearance. After examining the ledger several times, he announced with what seemed to be a twinge of glee, “The tax is short. Where are the amounts for these three men?” he asked, pointing to the book.
“Attacked and killed just yesterday. Such a sad business...the monks are still preparing their bodies for burial. Their share was taken and we do not know what happened to it. We’re all still in mourning here. I’m sure under the circumstances, Tyroc will be gracious and forgive their amounts as has always been the custom.”
“I know of no such custom. The tax is due, or Tyroc shall take over their rights to make up for the deficit.” There was no compassion in his tone.
“But what of their families?” Minhaven’s official stammered in disbelief.
“That is not my concern. I have been charged with collecting the tax...the full tax...and if I do not have it by the time this ship sails two days from now, my report shall say that the rights of those men are forfeit to Tyroc,” he said, his upper lip curling into a cold sneer. Everyone standing around who heard the exchange expressed cautious anger, but dared not press the issue too far.
As word spread, tempers rose, and outrage threatened once again to boil over into violence. The murder of their own, followed by this unreasonable edict on an already over
burdening tax increase, was simply too much to bear. The Kinship did their best to soothe tempers and override anger with reason. They assured everyone that the dead mens’ shares would be covered. In the end, the anger remained, seething beneath the surface. As men loaded their hard-earned shares onto the boats, Elowyn noticed they were picking up single pebbles from the beach and dropping them into the goods before shoving the boats off. Elowyn asked Morganne if she knew what they were doing.
“They are putting a curse on the boat, hoping it will sink,” Morganne said with open defiance. Before handing over her own share, she opened the neck of the bag just enough that Elowyn could see a pebble nestled in among the coins.
“Do you really believe in such things?” Elowyn asked with no small amount of surprise. Morganne was typically so reasoned and practical.
“No. But I wish I did,” she said with a sigh. “At the least, I must stand with the others. What Tyroc is doing to these people is wrong, and for now that little pebble is my only voice against it, however inadequate.”
After two days that seemed to go on for an eternity, the ship from Tyroc was finally loaded and ready to set sail. The full tax had been covered, but the reserves from the thieves hoard had nearly been depleted in the process. Many of the men stood on the shore, shaking their fists at the boat as it sailed away, hurling stones toward it into the churning waters and shouting curses that were nearly drowned out by the violent surf. Despite their curses, the ship did not sink, but sailed off unharmed into the blue waters beyond sight of Minhaven’s shores.
At dawn the next morning, the three men were finally buried, and the entire village came to mourn their loss. Elowyn and Morganne had not known them, but nearly everyone else had, and all were taking the loss especially hard. More than one vow of revenge was made, while others pledged support to their families. Elowyn expected Glak to speak to the villagers, to say something profound that would ease the heartbreak and growing tension. But Glak kept apart from the others, and remained in sullen silence, stiffly wiping away a few stray tears as the first clods of dirt were tossed onto the graves. No words were adequate in that moment, nor could anything be done to allay the fears brought on by this new and unexpected threat to Minhaven. They would all need to cling to each other while the swirling darkness of the next storm gathered on the horizon.
Inner Demons
After the funeral, Glak mysteriously took leave of Minhaven. His departure was a quiet one—he did not say where he was going, or when he would return. He simply left word for one of his men to take command for a time, and charged him with putting together regular patrols along the mining road. Some of the villagers wondered at Glak’s absence, but the Kinship continued on in its duties, unruffled by this unexpected change in their command structure.
Elowyn began to take longer walks of exploration, bow in hand, when she was not helping the monks with their garden or working at the tavern. She was starting to know the woodlands around Minhaven, but curiosity lured her progressively deeper into the wilds until she was certain she had been to places rarely, if ever, trod by human foot. One place in particular kept drawing her back, time and time again. Northeast of Minhaven there was a shallow, rushing stream, cradled by the roots of ancient pines, mountain boulders, and thick mossy slopes. She found that she could sit there contentedly for hours, watching the clear mountain water rush over rocks and fallen limbs as the towering evergreens swayed above her. Something about that place soothed her soul just like her favorite place by the stream in Tyroc’s woodlands had. Only it was far more wild and mystical. Beyond that point the brush became thicker, and the terrain more difficult, so she had not yet dared to venture farther.
The spectacular view was not the only thing that enticed Elowyn to return. The wisps seemed to follow her there more often than when she was in parts of the wood closer to the village. At first they allowed her only brief flashes of their presence. But now they hovered boldly in the shadows, their blue-white light brilliant against the dark boughs of the evergreens. For the first time since the road to Greywalle, the soft, melodic tinkle of their voices called out to her. She could not help but feel somewhat apprehensive about this sudden change in their behavior.
However much Elowyn tried to soothe her anxiety by the memory of the wisps’ protective guidance, and by the knowledge that they were known to be creatures on the side of Aviad and the ancient Prophets, her fearful dream had become no less vivid with the passing of time. Apprehension quickly changed to frustration, as she tried desperately to understand their language, a seemingly impossible feat. She could detect no patterns, no intelligible sounds. And yet she came to believe that they could understand her. Something about their movements, and the way tone and volume of their music changed in response to her words.
Gradually, Elowyn’s fear and frustration decreased and she began to find comfort in their continued presence. She realized that she could speak her deepest thoughts freely to the wisps, as there was no danger of her words being repeated to anyone else. This eased the burden of silence she had been forced to carry since she had fled from Tyroc. She confessed many things to the wisps that she had not even voiced to Morganne...anger with her mother that she could not let go of, a torturous longing to know what had become of her father, and the sting of Braeden’s injustice that had left an irritated welt across her heart nothing seemed to heal. She spoke aloud her fears about all the changes going on in the world, as well as those happening deep within herself. She could sense the layers of childhood peeling away, leaving her with new and tender skin in the harsh winds of an adult world. She was not quite ready, and yet life had left her no choice but to grow up—and quickly.
She could not cling to Morganne’s skirts as though she were a helpless child. Morganne’s shoulders were bent enough under the responsibility of caring for Adelin, running her shop, and keeping up with her studies. Elowyn was certainly grateful for her independence and her freedom, but at times it was also fearsome and lonely. She understood that Morganne was the only person responsible for her, providing for her, and caring for her in dangerous and uncertain times. Without Morganne, she would be left alone to care for both herself and Adelin. The tips of her feet were already standing at the threshold to full adulthood, whether she wanted it or not.
The ray of hope against loneliness on the other side of that threshold was Cailean. She knew very well what he meant when he had said caring for his father was not the only reason he wanted to improve his fortunes. He was talking about her, about preparing for her future as well as his own. Sometimes she forgot he was nearly of marrying age. She was not, but she sensed that he was resolved to wait for her—a thought that was both reassuring and unsettling at the same time.
When Glak finally returned to the village, there was a frenzy in his eye that Elowyn had not seen before. He had been out alone, searching for the men who had slain the miners, prepared to unleash his full vengeance upon them. Unable to find any trace of them, he pressed further into the mountains, scouting the lairs of the beasts from the shadows. For days he had tracked their movements and counted their numbers, slaying any that were foolish enough to stray off alone.
He held out hope that they might betray the nature of their dark master’s secrets, but in that he was disappointed. They seemed to be on the move again, eastward, and deeper into the mountains, winding their way by tunnels and caves where he could not follow to determine their ultimate destination. The darkness that pulsated deep within him grew thicker when he was near them. The only relief came when at the thrust of his sword, a beast would give its final, gasping breath and collapse at his feet. But as the fire diminished from the slain beast’s eyes, the grey veil would lower again. There were simply too many for one man to defeat.
If Elowyn thought Glak’s training regimen was brutal before, it was now intensified beyond what Elowyn could stand to watch. Glak was not the only warrior still seething over the loss of the miners, and the injustice and humiliation of Braeden’s unrea
sonable mandates. His fighting men were more than willing to vent their frustrations in preparation for battle...against the thieves, the beasts, or even Tyroc if it came to that. Again, Cailean asked to join the Kinship and help the men in their fight, and again Glak held him off. He could not afford to bring a new, unseasoned warrior into the relentless brutality of the battles awaiting them.
The news that continued to come in from other parts of the realm only fueled the people’s anger. Word started to circulate among the lords that those who refused to reaffirm their loyalty to Braeden, or who did not meet his extra monetary demands, had begun to see their fortunes turn for the worse. Some shrugged this off by saying their fortunes were already down, which was why they hadn’t met the demands in the first place. Others were not so certain. There was an underlying belief that somehow Braeden was pushing them down and holding them under the dark waters of his vengeance until they were beyond recovery, so that he could snatch away for himself anything of value that remained.
But among the people of Tyroc, Braeden was gaining popularity. He had averted the growing crisis there, bringing life from the brink of chaos back to a familiar and comfortable normalcy. The influx of wealth as wedding preparations got underway, served as a welcome distraction that helped the people forget their wounds. They began to trust in Braeden’s word that the worst had passed and a new and better dawn was breaking across Tyroc’s horizon. He placated the poor with increased food rations, and the merchants with new business. The noble and the wealthy were bought with gold, land, and the promise of power. The restless warriors across the realm he gathered into armies and sent them off to fight against the dark creatures plaguing Tyroc and its surroundings.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 21